The cupola at the top of the house has cedar siding that I stain-sealed over the past two days. That meant going up on the roof. We put a steel roof on the new house because we wanted a roof that would outlive us, was recyclable, and was safe for rainwater catchment. Capturing rainwater is illegal in this state, though no one is going to arrest you for keeping a rain barrel in your backyard.

We plan on having a cistern and wind-powered pumping system. Most of this water will end up in the front pasture, which will be pasture no more a year from now. I'd also like to have any wind-generator towers there as that pasture is farthest from the trees.

Trees = turbulence, the bane of a wind generator's existence. With current designs, either you have trees and no wind power, or lots of wind power and no trees. I have an idea for a wind-energy capture system, but I haven't had time to build any prototypes (and I will brag that yes, I had one patent, and while my abilities with HTML are severely limited, I can solder quite well).

When I climbed up this morning, it was still early enough that the dew hadn't had time to dry. It dried quick enough, about the same time I finished the east wall.

I wear Carhartt work pants when I’m working on the house. I have two pairs, one khaki, one olive green. They’re great except when first thing in the morning (or when it’s raining) dew soaks the fabric and makes them drag, and I end up with a terrible case of butt cleavage. I am not alone in this. But there are strategies for combating this evil. Forget belts. Feeding baling twine through the belt loops and tying it really really tight doesn’t work. Suspenders work, but you have to be willing to ignore camel toe and have breasts that are each smaller than a small teacup.

The trick I use is to cut the legs of my work pants off at mid-calf. Any lower and you don't lose enough fabric to avoid picking up any water on the ground. Any higher and you will burn your knees on a steel roof. Or get a stone ground into your kneecap. Or kneel on a paddle bit you just finished using and invent new and exciting bad words as it sears itself into your flesh.

Even with this technique, though, you’re only delaying the inevitable. Just accept that gaposis is going to happen and be ready to cover Krakatoa. I wear long t-shirts.

There are companies that make t-shirts with especially long backs. Scotty, our plumber, wears them. He is particularly sensitive to charges of flashing butt cleavage because it wasn't that long ago when people hated on plumbers by referring to butt cleavage as "plumber's butt."

Scotty is a great guy. He can do anything construction- and machinery-related and he's more than willing to share any method he has found to make the work a little easier or the results a little better. He grew up on a dairy farm in one of the Dakotas and said he was so glad to get a job as a plumber's apprentice when he was seventeen because plumbing was a hell of a lot easier than dairy farming. He and his wife run their own small construction company. He adores his wife and his daughter---I mean, adores them. He can't believe his luck. He loves those sprinkles on donuts, so when we get some for the days he and Teddy, his helper guy, are here, we always get the vilest pink- and chocolate-frosted donuts with extra sprinkles for him. They're really gross, but Scotty would eat ten if he could get them.

He's whippet-thin and the guy has some skills. So does Teddy, whose soldering beats mine all to shit. Teddy doesn't like donuts because they give him heart-burn, so we bring a roll of Tums along with the half dozen donuts we get from Fresh and Fancy Donuts.

Last time Scotty was up here our conversation turned from firetape to President Bush. Scotty just shook his head and said, "That fellow---that fellow is a war mongrel."

Yes, Scotty, my friend, that man is a war mongrel.